


The Boy Who Lived (Next Door)

by JazzB



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Dom/sub, Domestic, Drarry, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Muggle Life, Not Epilogue Compliant, Self-Harm, Substance Abuse, Top!Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-25 23:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6215269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzB/pseuds/JazzB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the wizarding war, Draco Malfoy finds himself thrown into Muggle London. After a rough couple of  years, he's found a flat and is finally establishing himself - and doing rather a good job at it, thank you very much. </p><p>Following a breakup that was relatively amicable, all things considered, Harry Potter finds himself on a flat hunt. He finds the perfect place in Muggle London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

Draco Malfoy has, he thinks, assimilated quite well into the muggle world. 

With his father's life sentence in Azkaban, and his mother fleeing the country to avoid the same fate, it's a given that nobody with the name 'Malfoy' will work in the wizarding world for a long time. He escaped prison himself, because he was so young, but he almost thinks a dementor-guarded cell would've been better than being a social pariah. For a little while, he managed to live in hiding on the relatively meagre savings that he managed to scrape together. But the money only went to far - besides which, no matter how many times he moved, people still managed to find out where he lived. And if it wasn't a barrage of howlers and death threats and all manner of unpleasant things from the people he had wronged, it was an army of do-gooders trying to 'reach out' to him knocking on his door. One day, he decided that enough was enough, swallowed his prie and took himself to the one place in the country he new it was easiest to hide in plain sight. 

Muggle London was confusing, at first. He remembers very vaguely reading about the 'Age of Technology' in Muggle studies, which he attended reluctantly, but it never occurred to him that they'd have anything this far advanced from standard magic. Photographs that don't only move, but talk as well. Strange boxes that fit in your pocket, that contain thousands of songs and let you talk to people on the other side of the world. Slimmer boxes on which you can store thousands of books all in one place. Those great roaring _car_ things, that he knew Arthur Weasley to fascinated by. Currency controlled by rectangles of plastic and boxes with numbered buttons. At first - in those days spent in greasy spoon cafes and damp alleyways and homeless shelters - everything was confusing and frightening.  Draco was vulnerable, and if Muggles have one magical power, it's the ability to spot vulnerability, no matter how well you think you hide it. They'll try and take advantage of your vulnerability. Some of them will succeed. 

It was rough, that first year, but he's since found his feet. He picked up enough knowledge round and about to open up a bank account and get himself a job, where they taught him to use a computer. Because he was earning a steady wage, he found somewhere steady to live. A modest flat in an Edwardian building, not the nicest part of the city but by no means the worst either, decent view of the river from his bedroom on a clear morning. It isn't the Manor, but, when he moved in, he was more than grateful to have it. 

In the two years since, he's settled. He got promoted at work twice and has found a small group of friends who don't ask too many questions about his life before London. They didn't find his technological ineptitude very bizarre or suspicious, and between them they managed to convince him that a mobile phone was a good investment. He's even been on a few dates with muggles. He still carries his wand around, just in case, but he hasn't felt the need to use it in weeks. In short, Draco Malfoy is content in his new life, and the days when he didn't wear Primark jeans and use an iPhone and stop off at Starbucks before taking the tube to work are becoming a distant, nightmarish memory. 

Trust Harry Potter to be the one to change that. 

He was vaguely aware of the moving van as he left for the office that morning, but was too occupied in his daily  _keys-wand-phone-wallet-money-bankcard-oyster card_ check to pay any attention to it. By his lunch break, he'd all but forgotten about it. Even as he comes home in the evening, he's too absorbed in Piano Tiles to realise that he recognizes the voices in the newly occupied flat next door. In fact, it's not until much later on at night, when the moving van has finally sped off and the TV is starting to show reruns of 40 year old game shows, that Draco discovers the identity of his new neighbour. Around ten thirty, there's a knock on the door and Draco is startled. Even know, unexpected knocks terrify him. He keeps his fingertips on the handle of his wand as he approaches the door. He tries to tell himself he's being stupid - it'll be Mrs Pollock from downstairs wanting a  _strapping young lad_ to change the batteries in her smoke alarm again, or some takeout delivery guy who's gotten the wrong flat. He had enough hexes thrown over the threshold when he was in hiding that it's not easy to convince himself. He keeps as calm as possible as he opens the door. 

"Hiya, sorry to be a pain. I've just moved in next door and - Malfoy?!" 

"Potter." 

Potter looks as surprised as Draco feels. The green eyes are as wide as saucers, and his mouth drops open just a little bit. For a minute, he's speechless. Draco considers making a quip about catching flies, but he decides against it, given the circumstances. So they stand in awkward silence as the seconds tick away. 

"I thought you were dead?" Harry says, finally. 

"Good. You were supposed to," Draco shifts his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. He'd planned it so meticulously. Torched his last known address to the ground, with enough of his personal belongings in there to convince the world he'd gone down with the house. He even chucked a few animal bones into the rubble for good measure. He didn't account for Golden Boy accidentally tracking him down.

"Why aren't you dead?" Harry blurts it out before he can stop himself, and Draco finds himself laughing. 

"Sorry to disappoint and everything, Potter, but I actually couldn't quite manage that one," he shrugs. Another agonizingly long pause. "Did you want something or..." 

"I didn't mean that," Harry shakes his head. "I meant why are you  _here?"_

"I  _live_ here, Potter," Draco indicates the flat behind him. "God, you're less intelligent than I remember. I could ask  _you_ the same thing, anyway. I thought you were living with Weasleby's sister?" 

"Weasley," Harry corrects. "Ginny Weasley. I was. We uh... we ended it. I moved out. And into..." 

"The flat next door to me," Draco finished curtly. 

"It seems so," Harry attempts a laugh. They've never gotten along, but no interaction between them has ever been so awkward. "So you're living..." 

"Like a muggle," Draco confirms, as nonchalant as he gets. "Yes." 

"How long?" 

"Almost three years, now. Did you want something? It's late." he asks it a little more firmly this time. He's eager to get to bed now, to pull the covers over his head and wonder what the hell is going on and what the hell he's going to do next. 

"Does anybody know you're here?" 

And that's the question that tips Draco over the edge. He grabs him by the collar, drags him inside the flat only to shove him back against the door once it's closed. Without realising, he's drawn his wand and has it pointed at Potter's throat. 

"Nobody. Nobody knows, and you aren't going to let anybody know," he says it through gritted teeth. "I have worked too fucking hard and been through too fucking much to have to up and leave this life behind. I am  _not_ fucking running any more. Do you understand me, Potter?" 

"Draco," Potter's understandably shocked but, ever the brave and kindly Gryffindor, he tries to take control of the situation as calmly as possible. "It's okay. I won't tell anybody you're here. Okay? Put your wand away, and we can talk about this like adults. Okay?" 

Feeling a little put-out at being spoken to like a child, Draco somewhat reluctantly shoves his wand back into his pocket. He then proceeds to open the door. 

"There's nothing to talk about. Get out," he says. 

"Draco-" he begins. 

"I said get out!" it's a little more vehement than Draco intends, but it does the trick and Potter leaves, allowing Draco to slam the door shut once more and fall back against it. 

_Oh, fuck._


	2. Two

To say that Harry Potter is confused is an understatement. 

He'd seen the new flat as a fresh start. Ginny was understanding about the split, because she's Ginny, and being understanding is simply a part of her nature. They parted on good terms, but Harry still felt it necessary to find himself somewhere completely fresh, where he can, in a sense, start anew. And what better place than London? Full of bustling people and millions of faces, it's the perfect place for him to hide in plain sight. It's an easier commute to The Ministry from here, anyway. And he can see the Thames from the bedroom window, which he likes. Hermione helped him pick it. She helped a lot with the move, in that way that only Hermione can. She helped him pack his stuff, taped each box shut and labelled it, both by room and specific contents. She was the one who scoured the internet and the phone books for a rental van. She even helped him to move in, the pair of them taking turns to drive down the hectic motorway. Ron didn't come with them. He tried his best to be understanding too, and he's still  _friendly._ It's just going to take some time to wrap his head around the fact that, while Harry still very much  _loves_ Ginny, he just can't be  _in love_ with her. For now, things are awkward between them. All the more reason for Harry to move. 

He met a couple of the neighbours while moving in; the two nerdy guys from the ground floor, who each proved stronger than they looked and were very helpful in lugging the boxes up to the top of the building; the middle aged lady from directly below Harry, who was insistently flirtatious, much to Hermione's amusement; the girl from down the hallway who told him that the shower will probably leak and if it does, to give her a shout and she'll mend it for mates rates. All in all, they seem to be a very friendly bunch. It wasn't until he realised he'd forgotten to bring a bottle of milk that he decided to introduce himself to the new next door neighbour. He'd heard them come home a few hours before and, with no knowledge of the nearest supermarket and no intention of going without a cup of tea until morning, he decided his best bet was to pop next door and ask to borrow a little bit. 

The last thing in the universe that he was expecting was for Draco Malfoy to open the door. 

Most of the reason for his surprise is the fact that Draco Malfoy died around three years ago. The house he was living in was burned to dust, and his remains were found in the rubble. The fire was almost definitely set on purpose; the number of people who wanted Malfoy dead was no secret. His family had done a lot of horrible things to a lot of pissed off people. After a very half-hearted investigation, which Harry actually worked on, the fire was ruled accidental and everybody moved on with their lives. So to see him standing, very much alive, in a Muggle apartment complex in Muggle London, in a pair of faded jeans and a flannel shirt, is a bit of a slap in the face. 

Their conversation is brief, ending in Draco threatening Harry.  _No change there then._

Harry can't help thinking that his ex-classmate looks a bit... worse for wear. He's always been slender, but now he's even thinner. His hair is no longer combed back neatly, but now more closely resembles Harry's own untameable bird's nest. The dark circles that affixed themselves to his undereyes in Sixth Year are more purple and bruise-like than ever. He's still good-looking - just some of the haughty pride has melted away. It's surreal and almost sickening, and it leaves Harry staring at the closed door for some time. When he hears what sounds like a snuffling sob behind it, he turns on his heel and goes back inside his own flat. 

He's forgotten all about the milk. 

**

With shaking hands and vision blurred by tears, Draco scrabbles through the top drawer of his bathroom cabinet. 

It's been nearly three weeks since he picked up a razor blade for anything aside from shaving. He promised himself  _never again_ last time. 

But seeing Potter brought back too many memories.

He doesn't know what else to do. 

** 

Harry's first instinct is to text Hermione. 

But he doesn't. 

As much as he'd trust his friend with his life, he doesn't know what she'd make of this information. Besides which, he promised Draco that he wouldn't tell anybody, and a promise is a promise, no matter who it's a promise to. So instead, he makes his tea sans milk, switches the telly to reruns of  _Wife Swap_ _Australia_ and tries to forget about what he's just seen. 

It's not easy, but he'll give it a damn good try. 

** 

When Draco has managed to calm down and stop crying, he grabs a bottle from the fridge and heads to bed. 

He knows it's bad, but there's relief that comes with his self flagellation. Like releasing the air from a balloon. He feels like there's a pressure, a weight, that's been let out of him. He can think more clearly now. He has to think about what to do next. 

He could up and start again, somewhere else. But leaving London means leaving his flat, and his job. Leaving his job means having no money to get a new flat. He won't be homeless again. Besides which, he has friends now.  _Real_ friends. Not friends like the ones from school, who were scared of him, or scared of his dad, or too stupid to find other friends, or - in Pansy's case - had an obsessive crush on him. Friends who know nothing about who he is, who his parents are, what he's done. Friends who like him for his personality and his wit.

Lucius would be sick to see his only son so close to muggles. 

He could ignore Potter. Pretend he's not there. Avoid him as much as possible, don't speak to him when they are forced to see each other. And if Potter comes seeking him out... well, he's always got his wand to hand. 

Drinking on a work night is probably as bad as the self-punishment, but he drains the beer bottle and gets another. 

It helps him sleep more soundly, at least. 


	3. Three

Draco does quite well in his plan to avoid Potter. 

He learns Potter's schedule fairly quickly, and he knows to leave before his neighbour does and return long after Potter gets home from work. He never comes home on his lunch break any more, just in case. It's more tiring than he expected, but worth it to avoid seeing Potter again. He's even cast a charm on the adjoining wall of their bedrooms, because he can sometimes hear Potter on the phone in there and that's nearly as bad as seeing him. Three weeks in, and he's worn out. People at work are beginning to notice. 

"Earth to Dee," a pair of well-manicured fingers snapping close to his face pulls Draco out of his reverie. Alice laughs at him. "Thought we'd lost you for a minute, there, mate."

"What? No, sorry. I just... tired, is all," Draco manages to force out, and her face crinkles into concern. 

Truth be told, he likes Alice a lot more than he liked any of his Hogwarts friends - something Lucius would faint to know, he's sure. She's fun to be around, makes Draco laugh even when he doesn't feel like it. She also seems to genuinely care about him, something he hasn't experienced since his mum left. She'd like to know more about his past, he can tell, but she appreciates that he isn't willing to share and doesn't press him to do so. She's incredibly intuitive for a muggle, and she can always tell when he's having a bad day. Even on those days, she doesn't pry if he asks her not to. She'll just give him a prod in the arm and whisper "Give us a smile, then, Goldilocks" in the hallway, or add an extra espresso shot to the coffee she leaves on his desk in the morning, or text him some ridiculous joke to pick up his mood. All in all, she's one of the best friends Draco has ever had, and he's glad that he met her. 

"I thought you looked a bit knackered lately," she confesses. "Are you having trouble sleeping?" 

"No more so than usual," Draco is deliberately vague. "Just a bit.... worn out, I suppose." 

"Come on then, what's eating you? Tell Auntie Alice," she leans over the coffee shop table to pat him on the hand. He sighs heavily. 

"Trying to dodge my new neighbour, weirdly enough," Draco confesses. He's so tired, he doesn't even realise what he's saying until he's said it. Alice looks confused. 

"Why? Who is it?" she wants to know. Draco just shrugs awkwardly. 

"Somebody I used to know," he says, limply. "Somebody I'd rather not be living next door too." 

"Ah," Alice says. "Ex boyfriend?" 

"Uh... something like that," Draco lies, because it's easier than explaining the truth. There's a brief silence. 

"He wasn't... Dee, he didn't hit you or anything, did he?" Alice asks. "Because you can probably go to the police or call the housing people..." 

"No," Draco shakes his head. "Nothing like that. We just... we parted on bad terms, Al. That's all. It'd be awkward, having to talk to him, you know?" 

"I understand," she says, although of course, she doesn't. Draco lets her pretend that she does though, because even if he wanted to explain, there's no way any of it would ever make any sense to her. 

Not a chance in Hell. 

** 

Sticking to his routine of waiting til long after Potter is home before he returns, Draco makes a pit stop at Nathan's. 

He's been on a few dates since arriving in London. 

Some of them stick around for a while. Jamie hung on for six months. But inevitably, they give up on him. Too much emotional baggage, they say. 

_"It's a lot to handle... I don't know if I can do it."_

_"I can't help you any more, Dray. You need a doctor."_

_"I can't any more. I'm sorry. I just can't."_

And Jamie? Jamie just wasn't ready for the commitment of a steady long-term relationship. He heard the l-word and ran for the hills without so much as a backwards glance. Draco cried every night for a week. 

Nathan is different.

He doesn't have to worry about emotional baggage with Nathan, because he doesn't care enough to ask about it. He doesn't have to worry about the l-word, either. He's under no false illusion that Nathan loves him; he's been reassured of _that_ on more than one occasion.  And he doesn't love Nathan either. Doesn't even  _like_ him much, if he's perfectly honest with himself. Doesn't suspect Nathan likes him either, but each man gets what he wants from the other, and that's all that's important. 

Draco wants to be punished. 

Nathan wants something to punish. 

Nathan is a sadist. 

Draco is not a masochist, but he pretends to be. 

He's read enough books chucked his way by Alice to know that bondage is  _supposed_ to be about trust, respect and mutual care. That's thrown out of the window at Nathan's flat. It's a simple procedure every time. Draco will drop Nathan a text, Nathan will reply with a time. At that time, Draco will arrive at Nathan's flat, strip naked, then let Nathan throw him around the bedroom for an hour or so, tie him to the bed, fuck him roughly, then chuck him out before he's really had enough time to recover. There's no safeword, no aftercare, no asking _are you okay_. They don't even kiss on the mouth. 

For Nathan, it's something to take his frustration out on.

For Draco, an extension of his self-flagellation. 

 ** 

As rotten luck would have it, he bumps into Potter on his way home from Nathan's. 

They meet on the top floor hallway, and at first all Potter offers is an awkward half smile. Then he stops, dead in the middle of the corridor, blocking Draco's route. 

"Move, Potter," he doesn't mean it to be quite so curt. Potter's eyes narrow. 

"Who got ahold of you?" he asks, and Draco is more than a little taken aback by the question. 

"What are you talking about?" he asks. 

"Somebody's clearly hurt you," Potter states. "Who was it? Has somebody found you?" 

"No," Draco blurts. Shit. Nathan had seemed in a particular rush to get him out of the flat this evening. He hadn't even had time to check how he looked in the bathroom mirror before he left. He steals a quick glance into his darkened phone screen now. His lip is split, and there's blood dried around the bottom of his nose. He still has an angry red mark on his cheek where Nathan slapped him hard enough to lift him off his feet, and there's a bruise already forming on his forehead. 

_That explains the looks on the Tube, then._

Draco finds himself unable to look into Potter's eyes any more. That damn piercing green full of - what  _are_ they full of? Not concern, surely? He side-steps the dark haired man, starts to fumble for his keys with shaking hands.  _Why won't Potter go the fuck inside._

"Draco, look. I know you're trying to hide, and I understand why. But you know I'm still at the Ministry? I can get you protection," Potter offers. "If you just tell me who got hold of you I can-" 

He places what is supposed to be comforting hand on Malfoy's elbow. Draco throws him off and draws his wand. 

"Don't. Fucking. Touch. Me," he says, through gritted teeth. "I don't need your  _protection._ And I certainly don't need your fucking false sympathies. Nobody got hold of me who I didn't want to do so. You don't know a damn thing about me, Potter. Not any more." 

"You... you  _wanted_ somebody to do this to you?" is all Harry says. 

Draco doesn't reply - just steps inside his flat and closes the door. 


	4. Four

Once again, Harry is left confused by Draco's presence. 

When they met in the corridor, he looked for all the world like somebody had knocked seven shades of shit out of him. His nose was bloody, his lip split, his pale skin bruised and reddened. And he wanted somebody to do that? Harry isn't stupid. He understands people have kinks and fetishes - has a few himself, buried deep down. But Draco's never really seemed the sort. Can't judge a book by it's cover, he supposes. But the thing is, whether he wanted to be hurt or not, he's not happy. Harry can tell that, even if Malfoy is right and Harry doesn't know him any more. His cheeks were stained with tears, he was shaking like a leaf. Harry's limited knowledge at least tells him that both parties are supposed to take  _some_ kind of pleasure in what they do. 

He likes to consider himself a man of his word, but he breaks his promise and calls Hermione. 

"Guess who lives next door to me," he gets it in before Hermione even has a chance to say hello. 

"I have absolutely no idea, Harry. They were out when you moved in," she reminds him. 

"It's only Draco Bloody Malfoy," he informs her. Silence on her end. Then she speaks again, with that concerned 'Mum-friend' way that she does. 

"Harry, no. Draco Malfoy is dead," she reminds him. 

"But he's not," Harry insists. "I don't know how he's not, but he's not. He's alive, and he lives in a flat in the middle of muggle London." 

 "Are you  _sure_ it's him, Harry?" she asks. He can practically see her, eyebrows furrowed, chewing her lip in the way she does when she's thinking. 

"Positive. I've spoken to him," he says. "Pulled his wand on me the first time." 

"Sounds like him," she attempts a weak chuckle. A pause. "Why is he living in muggle London?" 

"Trying to hide, I suppose," Harry shrugs. Another pause. "I'm concerned about him. He seems... depressed." 

It seems a feeble description of the vibe Harry is getting off of Malfoy, but it's the word that fits best. 

"Well he would be, wouldn't he," Hermione says. "His father is going to die in prison, his mother has abandoned him and practically everyone he thought was a friend had a party when they thought he was dead." Another pause. "The Prophet will have a field day if they find out he's still alive." 

She's not wrong. It was blazoned all over the papers for days after his residence was torched. Treated it the way muggle tabloids treat the hottest of celebrity gossip.  _Last Free Malfoy Dead,_ _Murder or Mercy Killing? More on the Draco Malfoy Investigation, Death Eater's Death Officially Ruled Accidental._ Harry couldn't help the way his stomach had turned when he read them. Much as he never liked the guy, Draco was still human, and it wasn't exactly like he hadn't  _regretted_ the things he'd done. Even immediately after the war, that much was apparent to Harry at least. Malfoy was sorry, but too proud to explicitly say so. Even if he had, people probably wouldn't have listened. Much easier to dodge the people who wanted to hurt him. 

"You can't tell anybody Hermione," Harry says. "You're right, the Prophet will be all over it, especially if that bloody Skeeter woman gets her hands on the scoop. Imagine what people will do if they manage to get their hands on him." 

"You're an  _Auror,_ Harry," she reminds him, with an exasperated sigh. "You can get him into protection..." 

"I already offered that," Harry tells her. "He told me to piss off." 

"Oh," is all she offers in reply. 

"Promise you'll keep it to yourself?" he asks. 

"I promise," she says, and he believes her. "So anyway. How are you settling in? I meant to come down and visit before now, but I've been completely run off my feet." 

"It's okay," Harry says, with a shrug. He knows full well she means that she hadn't yet been able to convince Ron, and she knows how much that would bum Harry out. "I'm alright. It's a nice neighbourhood. Much easier for getting to work. I don't have to Floo in any more." 

"Good. That's good," she says. "Have you met anybody yet?" 

"Christ, Hermione, I've only been in London five minutes," he says, but it's with a laugh. "At least give me a bit of recovery time." A further pause. "How's Ginny, by the way?" 

"She's good," Hermione says it maybe just a little bit too quickly. "I'll let her know you were asking after her." 

"How about Ron?" Harry attempts a shaky laugh. "Does he still want to kick my arse?" 

"Don't be silly, Harry, he never wanted to... do that," she says, limply. "He's still just a bit... a bit... shocked." 

"I don't blame him," Harry replies. "If I had a sister and her fiancé turned round and said he preferred blokes, I'd probably be reeling a bit too." 

"Yeah," she agrees, with a false laugh. "Listen, Harry, I have to go. I'll be down sometime next week. I'll text you with the details, alright?" 

"Okay," he says. "See you next week, then." 

"See you," and she hangs up. 

** 

It's not long before their next encounter.

Harry quite literally bumps into Draco as he leaves his flat, the morning after the blond came home bloodied. Draco grumbles something that sounds a bit like  _fucking watch yourself, Potter,_ and Harry sighs. 

"Mal- Draco, look," he says, and he's surprised when Malfoy actually stops. "Merlin knows you and I have never been the best of friends-" 

"That's an understatement," Draco mutters under his breath, and Harry continues as if he never spoke. 

"- but like it or not, we're neighbours now. Besides which, we've saved one another's lives enough times that at least a little civility is in order, don't you think? We're not kids any more, Draco." 

"I have enough friends, Potter," Draco says, cold and curt and matter-of-fact. 

"I'm not asking for us to be friends," Harry says, because quite frankly the idea of being  _friends_ with Draco Malfoy doesn't appeal to him in the slightest. "Just... civil acquaintances." 

Draco looks at him for a second, eyes narrowed like he's trying to work out what Harry is plotting. Then he sighs and shrugs.

"Fine. I can manage that," he says. "Can I leave now? I'm going to be late for work." 

"By all means," Harry waves him down the staircase. "See you around, yeah?" 

"I imagine you will," is Draco's goodbye. When he's gone, Harry heaves a sigh of something close to relief. 

_Well that was more painless than expected._

 


End file.
